Eight Months

Eight months and two days ago, I was getting a routine prenatal checkup and finding out that I was already 4-5 centimeters dilated. No symptoms, no warning, and 4 weeks too soon. The doctor said that the labor could stall and it could be another 2 weeks, or that the baby could be born that same night. After that shocking appointment, we drove straight to Target and started throwing things into the cart with wild abandon. I packed a hospital bag that night, too, just in case. Then we both slept through the night. No contractions. The next morning we kind of shrugged our shoulders and TJ went to work. About 30 minutes later, I started noticing that my back was hurting a little bit, but with the baby sticking straight out in front of me, that was nothing new. The only strange thing is that it would hurt a little more, and then less, and then a little more, and then it would subside again. Just out of curiosity, I started writing down when my back would hurt and when it would stop. After a while, my notes found a pattern of regular 4-5 minute intervals. I called a nurse hotline, and was told that it's not contractions until I feel them all the way around my middle, not just in my back. But after I told her that I was already 4-5 cm, she told me to call the doctor. I did, and then I called TJ to please come home. I was totally prepared to be told that I was having Braxton-Hicks, and to go back home. But once at the doctor, I was told I was 8 cm. and was immediately wheeled across the street and checked into a labor room. (I didn't even know that it was possible to be so far along and not realize it. I'm still amazed it happened that way.) Here is the last pregnant picture I took, 16 days before Topher was born:

Eight months later, here we are. Has it only been eight months? I think I've lived another lifetime since Topher was born. And I fear that we're committing the Cardinal Sin of parenthood: we're wishing him bigger. We LOVE that he smiles and laughs, we love that he sits up and that he's forever reaching for the cat. But I can still feel his frustration. He wants to MOVE. And I know that my job will technically get harder once he is mobile, but for his sake I want it anyway. He also wants to EAT. He is intrigued by our "big people" food. He longs for it, stretches towards it, grabs at it. But even when we give him a small piece of table food, he can't figure out how to eat it. He needs teeth, the teeth that are taking their sweet time and driving us all insane. How long has Topher been drooling incessantly now and chewing on anything he can grab? He started before he was even 4 months old. And don't get me wrong...his toothless grin is so endearing, it makes me want to burst. But if teeth will ease his overall pain and fussiness, I welcome them. Would I live the last 8 months over again if I could? No, I honestly don't think that I would. I'm too relieved that we survived them the first time around. But would I trade them for anything? No, absolutely not. I'm too in love with my chubby, busy bundle. Happy 8 months, little one. You're simply amazing.

--KC